


i wanna do what bunnies do, with you (if you know what i mean)

by lewis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, M/M, Pixie Louis, Riding, Rimming, Top Harry, actually laughing, also louis is very cute, and harry is in love with a pixie, i just remembered that 'eating out' is called rimming, idk harry eats louis out twice, it's bad but it's fluffy so i hope that'sokay, it's so bad though idek, it's super cliché and utterly ridiculous, like i'm sirius now (lmao), niall won't believe him, pls do not read omg, so it's been months now and i just reread it it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewis/pseuds/lewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“you can fuck me now,” he says, which. harry splutters, stares at louis for a long moment because, like, </em> honestly. <em> “if you wanna, of course.”</em></p><p> </p><p>aka the one in which harry collects the pixie dust that’s always on his sheets when he gets into bed at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna do what bunnies do, with you (if you know what i mean)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what to think of this, honestly, but i hope you'll like it.
> 
> title is from the song 'you and i' by ingrid michaelson. 
> 
> enjoy, babes. x

 

 

  
**one** (aka thursday)

harry styles likes being harry styles, really.

he’s twenty-five now, considers himself a free mind, works at the music shop in the heart of london, and spends loads of time in his own little bungalow, somewhere far away from everyone else—of course only when he doesn’t have to work the next day, which. a shame, really. he’d love spending every bit of his time in the depth of the forest, writing poems about the nature and love and getting high, maybe. it’s so inspirational, the little swamp near his bungalow. getting high, too, but maybe that’d be weird to write about.

so, like, every thursday night, he drives the three hours to the hut, and tucks himself into bed immediately, so he can go take the twenty minute walk to the swamp at dawn. some may consider it ridiculous, but, really, it’s not (in harry’s opinion, anyway). he’s good, he’s fine. no troubles, nothing.

but, when he arrives at one in the morning, hooded eyelids scanning the area for the packet of cigarettes he knows he’s left last sunday, and finds his pillow covered in glitter, he decides that, maybe, he shouldn’t get high so often no more.

he doesn’t notice the trail of glitter leading out the window that was somehow wide open when he first came in (except he does). he shrugs and goes to bed.

 

 

 

  
**two** (aka friday)

 

he wakes to cold air hitting his face. it’s still dark outside, and when he checks the time on his phone (which is on ‘ _do not disturb_ ’ for obvious reasons), he notices he’s still got an hour left until the sun’s supposed to start rising.

weird thing, though, is that he knows he’s closed the window last night—it’s autumn now; the sun grows weaker, the wind colder. he wouldn’t have left it open, right? or maybe he was higher than he’d thought.

he gets up, then, takes a shower and makes himself a sandwich. once he’s stepped outside, he puts a cigarette between his lips, before lighting it with ease. it’s good. god, he loves his life.

the trees have grown more brown and yellow since last sunday, as it seems. leaves are littering the ground, and it’s beautiful, really, the way the colours merge into one big— _thing_. whatever. he takes another drag, turns the cigarette to ashes.

when he arrives at the swamp, he can make out pixies swarming about the other side of it (in the beginning, he’d thought he was only imagining them, making them up in his stoned mind, but when he googled them, he’d learned that they do indeed exist, but are very shy creatures that only live in places no one else is).  he smiles, finishes his cigarette.

 

it’s later that day, when he returns to the bungalow with only half a packet of cigarettes and a grumbling stomach, that he notices there’s glitter on his pillow again. he sighs, eyebrows knotted together because _who the hell would put glitter on his pillow?_ it’s pretty, though, so he waits until he’s finished the last few of his cigarettes, before he brushes the glitter off the pillow and into the cardboard packet.

he smiles to himself when he falls asleep that night, with the smell of magic (???) in the air.

 

 

 

  
**three** (aka saturday)

 

he realises he’s forgotten his backup packet of cigarettes (so many cigarettes!!!) when he arrives at the swamp, which. it’s seriously fucking stupid because harry _needs_ his cigarettes (like every other smoker, right?). 

the bandana he wrapped around his head earlier is really fucking annoying because he can’t manage to tie a knot tight enough to actually keep the hair out of his eyes, so there’s really no point in wearing it. he tosses it at the ground when he enters the hut.

he’s about to step into his bedroom, when he hears a quiet giggle come from the other side of the door. he must be high, because, why would—oh. _oh_.

that is a pixie. a pixie on his bed. a very pretty pixie giggling to himself. “uhm.”

the pixie gasps, surprised, jumps up quickly. “i—i’m—you—uhm—i didn’t mean to—i’m sorry,” he squeaks, leaves glitter, aka pixie dust ( _pixie dust!!!_ ), behind.  “i’ll just—” he nods at the window.

“no,” harry shouts, reaches a hand out toward the boy with the tiny wings. “you can stay,” he adds, softer now. but really, _a pixie was on his bed only seconds ago—a pixie!!!_ niall won’t believe him.

the boy smiles wide. “i’m louis, but all the pixies call me lou,” he says. “what’s your name?” he takes a step toward harry.

“i’m harry.” he takes one toward louis. they meet by the bed, where harry bends down a little to look louis in the eyes. “you’re very pretty, louis.” maybe that’s a bit weird but the boy doesn’t seem to mind, so. _bloody shit_ , he’s gorgeous. he looks like a piece of art, honestly (in other words: harry would very much like to suck his dick) (so long as pixies have dicks) (he guesses they do).

“you, too, harry. there’s not many human beings that are as pretty as you, you know,” he says, giggles, then, when he watches a grin develop on harry’s face. “you have pretty lips, too. i’d like to kiss them some time.”

harry thinks that, fuck yes, louis can kiss his lips whenever the fuck he wants, but says, instead, “well, thank you, loulou.” he grins wider when louis starts squirming happily, pixie dust littering the floor around them. “so it was your glitter on my pillow?” he asks softly.

louis nods. “yes, of course. the others aren’t brave enough to enter this hut here.” he looks so proud, harry wants to pinch his cheeks (maybe not only the cheeks of his face). “i like your scent, too, you know.” he smiles sheepishly. harry likes his honesty. “can i—?” he points at harry’s neck, sniffs to demonstrate what he wants.

harry wants to fuck him so bad, _jesus_. he needs a fag to calm down. “of course you can.” he opens his arms wide, so that louis can step closer and press his nose to harry’s neck.

the boy inhales deeply, says, quietly, “you smell amazing,” and maybe it should be weird, but it’s not, so.

“you do, too, louis,” says harry. he picks louis up, sits on the bed with the boy in his lap. “how about you can kiss my lips now?” because, well. he needs to fuck him (aka he’s hard in his skinnies and it _hurts_ ).

louis nods, blushes. “i bet you taste good, too,” and, _wow_ , harry’s never been quicker to attach his lips to someone’s mouth. it’s hot the minute their lips connect, the second harry starts licking into louis’s mouth, and really, he needs to get his dick out (he feels like a horny teenager) (it’s embarrassing) (but he can feel louis’s own dick against his tummy) (so, it’s not, like, _embarrassing_ ).

 

harry ends up wanking off to the sounds louis is making as he comes undone around harry’s tongue, and really, harry loves his life.

after he kisses louis goodbye (he had to leave because he hadn’t told his mother that he was going out tonight, and he didn’t want her to worry too much, so he said, “i’ll be back tomorrow” and that was good, really; harry was fine with that) and closes the door with the sound of louis’s moans in his mind, he looks around the floor in search of his bandana. when he ends up not finding it, he figures louis must’ve snatched it off the floor before leaving. harry thinks that, yeah, he would very much like louis to ride him in harry’s bandana (if it wasn’t for the spectacular orgasm he’s just experienced, he’d be hard again at the mere thought of it, probably).

needless to say that harry brushes the glitter louis left on his bed (this time a whole fucking lot more, _jesus_ —it’s _sososo_ much; harry guesses louis really enjoyed their little _intimacy_ ) into the cigarette pack he used the day before.

 

 

 

  
**four** (aka sunday) (aka last day at the hut until thursday, sigh)

 

harry must admit he’s a little upset when he wakes up and realises it’s sunday. a second later he’s a lot more upset because louis isn’t with him. and another second later he’s climbed out of his bed and is making his way into the little bathroom (more like a separated room with a tiny shower and a toilet that doesn’t work properly) to get ready for a walk to the swamp (only because he hopes louis will be there).

a shower, a sandwich, and three cigarettes later, he arrives at the swamp. he sits on the floor there, watches the pixies move about in the air, when a piece of fabric flies in the wind suddenly. he squints, breaks into laughter when he realises it’s his bandana. “louis,” he calls, “louis, come over here.” he hopes it won’t scare anyone away, realises it doesn’t when louis starts waving at him.

“harry,” he squeals, and really, harry’s face will split into two if he doesn’t stop smiling now. “look what i have!” he holds the bandana high in the air when he comes flying toward harry, grin pretty much as wide as harry’s. quite a sight, the two of them, harry guesses.

“put it on, put it on, louis,” he says, holds onto the boy’s waist when he’s close enough and tucks him down until they’re at eye-level, a few centimetres left between the ground and louis’ feet. “put it on, for me,” he whispers when he’s pressing a kiss against the skin of louis’ neck.

“wait a second, ha— _rry_!” he giggles, pixie dust spreading around them wildly. “help me put it on, i don’t know how to tie it. i tried but i didn’t look pretty. i want to look pretty for you, harry,” he says, and god, harry wants to fuck him so bad.

“here you go,” he says when he’s done, satisfied with the result. “you make it look so good, louis,” he murmurs because, wow, he did not imagine it to look quite like that. he needs to fuck him now. “so pretty, loulou.”

“harry, shhh, my friends can hear us,” says louis, and he giggles when harry’s widen comically.

“oh.”

“yeah.” he presses a peck to harry’s cheek before spinning in his arms and flying over to the group of pixies whispering and giggling to themselves. “that’s the harry i talked about!”

“he’s so pretty, lou,” says one of the girls. another says, “you’re so lucky, really,” and one of the boys says, “i wish i had hair like him.”

harry waves his hand in the air (to which one of the girls squeals, “his hands are so big, they could so easily encircle your waist, lou!” which. thank you very much for the mental image) (it includes harry’s hand holding louis down while he fucks into him, which. _wow_ ) and smiles, all white teeth and deep dimples. “hi guys! how’s it going?”

one of the girls screams at the top of her lungs before she drops to the floor with a _thump_.

“oh, my god,” one of the boys shrieks. “she fainted,” which. maybe harry has to conceal a chuckle with a cough. “quick, let’s rush back to let her rest in bed. pleasure to meet you, louis’ friend.”

the boy next to him scowls. “harry is his name.” he smiles at harry. “goodbye, see you again some time?”

“of course. i live in my hut from thursday to sun—” he stops, then, realises they’re already flying away, leaving him with louis, who looks so fucking proud that harry is afraid he’s going to combust any second.

“you can fuck me now,” he says, which. harry splutters, stares at louis for a long moment because, like, _honestly_. “if you wanna, of course.”

 

“come on, c’mon,” louis begs, legs spread open. “you can go for it, i’ll be able to handle it, alright?”

harry looks up at him from in-between his legs with a kiss to the inside of his thigh. “you sure?”

“of fucking course,” he whines, presses his thighs together to keep harry in place when he moves away.

“you gotta let me get some vaseline or some shit,” he chuckles against his skin, bites there, quick and harsh, before spreading louis’ legs apart and standing up. “maybe i have lube somewhere….” he steps out of his boxers before walking out of his room. “don’t move and don’t you fucking dare touch yourself, alright?”

he comes back tugging at his cock lazily, a smirk on his face. he lies on the bed next to louis, the glitter scratching at his back (he doesn’t mind it, though—it’s a friendly reminder he’s not dreaming, is not high; this is real, this is happening) ( _this is real life!!!_ ). “i want you to ride me,” he says, and wow, it comes out really blunt, but maybe that’s just harry. or maybe louis is already rubbing off on him.

instead of answering, louis rolls on top of harry and kisses him fiercely, licks into his mouth hotly and it’s—harry needs to remind himself to breathe. “you’re so pretty,” says louis.

“nowhere near you.” and it’s so corny but it’s true and it’s okay because louis is breathing heavily and he’s hard for harry and harry’s hard for him, so there’s no problem, really.

louis reaches behind himself, then, gives harry’s dick a few lazy strokes with a lube-slick hand, before he guides the head to his entrance, and really, harry’s convinced he’s going to die any second. “fuck,” louis hisses when he’s got the head inside him.

“you alright there?” harry asks, softly, despite the fact that he’d very much like to fuck into louis relentlessly but he looks so fucking tiny, even from down here, and _fucking shit_. “you okay?”

louis nods. “just, like, you’re—you’re _big_.”

harry snorts. “you’re so fucking cute, i—” he cuts off,  let’s out a shout instead, when louis pushes down a little further. “you’re so bloody tight, i—wow.”

“ _harryharryharry_ ,” louis gasps, pushes down until his arse cheeks press against harry’s thighs.

he sits up, digs his fingernails into harry’s skin, and starts fucking himself on harry’s dick.

“’ve never been with a human being before,” louis admits when harry grasps his waist with both his hands, _encircles it_ , guides him up and down the length of his dick, and. “but, this. it—it’s so much better.” he blushes, looks down to where he and harry connect, gasps, and smiles after, moves quicker, which. harry’s going to die. “have only been with two, though,” and harry is glad.

he grasps louis’s waist tighter, fucks up into him messily. he grunts, then, when he can’t move inside him in the right angle, before he manhandles louis down on the mattress, where his wings flutter against the bedding, glitter spreading from them messily. harry wants to remember this forever.

louis clings to his chest, has both his arms around harry’s neck, scratches the space between the shoulder blades. harry hides his face in the crook of louis’s neck, bites there once, twice. licks, too—for good measure and all that. he pushes in further, fucks deeper, faster, chokes on his breath, then, when louis screams as he finds what he was looking for. so, pixie-boys have a prostate, too. good to know, really.

he drinks in the gasps louis releases, the little _uh uh uh_ ’s he lets out with every thrust. he looks down at the boy, feathery hair now damp against his forehead and eyes squeezed close tightly. “you’re taking me so well, louis,” he praises, quietly, yet too loudly in the room. he’s so hot, it’s so hot, too hot; the air around them, louis’s insides around his dick, _every fucking thing_. he fucks into him harder, then, when louis’s thrusts against him get erratic, says, “come for me, loulou, c’mon,” and it doesn’t take more than that, really.

he almost screams when he feels louis’s body lock up beneath him, feels his arse clench tightly around his cock, until he’s coming, too, riding both of them through their orgasms, until louis is struggling for breath and begging him to stop. he pulls out immediately, of course, because hurting louis is the least he wants to do, so he’s quick to lie beside him until he’s calmed down.

he looks completely blissed out, dopey smile on lips and eyelids hooded. he gazes over at harry. “go, get something to clean us up, or i won’t be able to get your come out of my arse later,” and harry wants to kiss him and hold him tight and never let go. so he does. except, he lets go of him after a minute to crawl down the bed.

he settles in-between louis’s legs again, licks up the come on his abdomen, and moves lower, licks around louis’s hole, fucked open and raw, all too pretty. licks into it, too, until louis is coming again and he has to clean up over again. he doesn’t mind one bit.

 

he kisses louis later, when they’re tugged into each other’s side beneath the blankets. “you’re leaving tomorrow, right?” says louis, sleepily, but harry catches the disappointment laced into his voice.

he says, “yeah,” kisses louis’s forehead soundly.

“do you really have to?” he asks, tilts his head back so harry’s lips press against his when he moves in again. “i don’t want you to,” he mumbles, catches harry’s bottom lip between his sharp teeth when the latter moves to pull away.

“i know, loulou, but i can’t do anything about it.” he’s upset because louis is, and also because he doesn’t want to leave, either. “but, i’ll be back on thursday, yes?” he pecks louis’s lips again, tugs his fingers beneath the bandana louis’s still wearing and scratches gently.

“okay, harry. that’s good. i’ll be waiting for you.”

his heart clenches at that, because louis is just too cute, and before he can stop it, he breathes, into louis’s mouth, “i love you,” which. _oh_.

but louis says, “i love you, too,” so it’s okay.

 

they fall asleep like that, with louis’s glitter still beneath them, kind of uncomfortable but kind of really fucking lovely. harry decides he wants a bathtub full of louis’s glitter—and louis’s only.

 

 

 

  
**five** (aka monday)

 

when harry wakes up, it’s nine, and he groans, knows his shift has started an hour ago. he calls his boss, then, tells her that he must’ve caught a cold because he’s not feeling well, and she tells him to rest and that they’ll miss him. he feels bad for a second but then louis is stirring beside him, looking up at him, and saying, “thank god you’re still here! is there time for morning sex left?” and it was totally worth lying to his boss slash friend.

“there’s time for morning sex and then sex in the shower and after that, i could fuck you in the kitchen before making you breakfast, and i could also fuck you in the bed again, afterward, if you’d like,” he says and louis giggles quietly, covers his mouth, and harry knows he understands and is already sporting a semi, and harry just wants to keep him forever.

 

harry styles likes being harry styles, really.


End file.
